Sans titre

[pyroline18]

Looking for a yaoi roleplay partner Jigokuraku/Hell's paradise and gachiakuta

Hi, I'm Pyro!

And I'm looking for a yaoi roleplay partner for Jigokuraku and Gachiakuta!

Main ships sought: Jigokuraku/Hells Paradise: Gantetsusai x Fuchi, Shugen x Fuchi

Possible secondary ships: Shion x Tenza and Yuzuriha x Sagiri

Gachiakuta: We can discuss it, but I don't do janka.

[pyroline18]

And you ? Who's your favorites character in all seasons of Inazuma eleven ? ❤️❤️

[pyroline18]

Hello! I’m currently looking for an *Inazuma Eleven* roleplay partner!

I’ve been a fan for years but haven't found a partner for this fandom yet!

Main ship :

Mamoru x Fidio (Mark x Paolo) Adult form or not

We can include side ships in addition to the main one; that’s something we can discuss together.

[fallesto]

He gazed at him and nodded, the motion slow and intentional, as if the burden of his own head had increased twofold with that single action. Fuchi's golden eyes sparkled with an emotion dangerously akin to trust, a sentiment he hadn't experienced directed towards him in years, not since the clan had started murmuring about the wolf-blood coursing through his veins. The fox’s muzzle remained pressed against his own, their warm breaths intertwining, carrying the aroma of wild berries and a hint of something metallic beneath. He took a sharp breath, etching it into his memory. This intimacy was delicate, fleeting. He understood all too well that it couldn't endure.

The wooden beams of the temple creaked above, shifting under the pressure of the wind outside. Fuchi’s ear flicked at the noise, yet he didn’t withdraw. Instead, his tail tightened around his foreleg, serving as a tether against the unavoidable. Shugen swallowed, his throat parched. "You are too kind." He whispered, his voice rough. 

"I will rest."

So he settled down to rest, but true sleep eluded him. Not really. The stillness of the temple pressed against his ears like damp cotton, amplifying the rustle of Fuchi’s fur and the distant moan of the wind through the pines outside. He kept his breathing steady, slow enough to imitate slumber, but his claws remained half-curled, restless against the tatami. The fox’s warmth was a searing presence against his side, too hot, too vibrant. He had spent moons sleeping in the hollows of dead trees, in caves slick with frost. This comfort felt like a snare.

[pyroline18]

Fuchi: Yes, get some rest; that’s the best thing you can do.

The young fox closed his eyes, resting his head between his small paws. Yet... he, too, found himself unable to sleep; he wasn't used to having someone by his side, and finding Shugen’s presence again after so long was... a rather special moment for him.

His mind was restless, his thoughts racing ceaselessly. After a good two hours of pretending to sleep, the blond fox grew restless and got up, stepping out silently on tiptoe.

Needing a breath of fresh air, he stepped out onto the stairs. He sat down, gazing at the staircase below, which was bathed in a beautiful reddish glow that lent the place an even warmer, more celestial atmosphere.

He lifted his muzzle toward the heavens, taking in the vast expanse of the starry sky spread out before him.

[fallesto]

He just sat quietly, absorbing her words, which pressed into him like a slow blade wedged between his ribs. The teacup he held quivered slightly, sending ripples through the jasmine liquid. He didn’t dare lift his eyes, not yet, unable to confront the sincerity in Sagiri’s gaze, the quiet insistence that felt like a forgiveness he hadn’t earned. Instead, he concentrated on the steam rising, dissipating into the air like the ghosts he bore.

Outside, a car horn blared, sudden and brief, but it shattered the silence enveloping them. He exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers tightening around the cup again. Sagiri’s plea reverberated in his mind, ricocheting off the walls of his regrets: You deserve better than this. A bitter laugh threatened to escape his throat. Deserve? He had long since abandoned that notion. Survival wasn’t about deserving; it was about enduring. And yet, 

Her hand brushed against his sleeve, a light touch that pulled him back to the present. He blinked, finally locking eyes with her. Sagiri’s expression was gentle, yet there was a steely resolve beneath it, the same determination that had once steadied her sword arm in the face of death.

So he expressed his gratitude, not through words, but by slowly releasing his grip on the cup, loosening his shoulders as if shedding armor. His palm turned upward, an offering, and Sagiri’s fingers intertwined with his, warm against the coldness that had settled in his hand from gripping the porcelain too tightly. The silence between them was not void; it was dense with the unspoken, like the heavy air before a storm breaks.

“Thank you, for always telling me what I need to hear.”

[pyroline18]

The young woman’s determined gaze never left his face; then, seeing Shugen relax, an even tenderer smile touched her lips.

As Shugen turned his hand toward her, Sagiri interlaced her fingers with his, letting him know he had something to hold onto—that she was there, and always would be.

Sagiri: It’s only natural; I can’t let you hurt yourself like that...

Her brown eyes turned toward the window overlooking the city; the sky was gradually taking on shades of orange, red, and pink as the sun began to set.

Sagiri: Even if we did terrible things in a past life, we’ve come back to life to become better people. And you won’t move forward by belittling or punishing yourself. Becoming the best version of yourself takes a lot of inner work—learning how to live, avoiding the same mistakes, and simply evolving. Right now, you’re too fixated on your past mistakes, but I’m certain that one day you’ll become the best version of yourself and finally bloom. Okay ?

[fallesto]

He sat there, a smile on his face. It was not the controlled, dignified expression of the Asaemon he used to be, tight-lipped and formal, but something more relaxed, frayed at the edges. The warmth of the jasmine tea seeped into his hands through the ceramic cup, its heat just shy of scalding. He took a deep breath, allowing the floral steam to fill his lungs, and for a brief moment, the aroma overshadowed the metallic taste of blood that sometimes lingered at the back of his throat. Sagiri had made a wise choice. The tea was vibrant, almost alive, a stark contrast to the bitter coffee he had forced down earlier.

He took a sip, slow and intentional. The liquid pooled on his tongue, floral and slightly sweet, lacking the astringency he had prepared for. It was delightful. Too delightful. The kind of drink that demanded his attention, insisted he acknowledge it, and that unsettled him in a way he couldn’t quite express. He wasn’t accustomed to such gentleness. His fingers tightened around the cup, not enough to break it, but enough for his knuckles to turn white.

He saw that Sagiri remained silent. She always did. Instead, she nudged the plate of biscuits closer, the porcelain softly scraping against the table. They were the kind with tiny sugar crystals embedded in the surface, glimmering in the lamplight like scattered stars. Absurdly domestic. Absurdly normal. He picked one up, examined it in his palm as if scrutinizing a blade for imperfections, then took a bite. It crumbled immediately, melting into buttery sweetness on his tongue.

For the first time that day, his shoulders eased. The tea, the biscuits, the quiet presence of Sagiri, it was an anchor, simple and unpretentious. He exhaled through his nose, long and slow, allowing the tension to drain away with his breath. The jasmine lingered, floral and bright, washing away the ghostly stench of rosin and blood.

“sometimes .. I do think about the past, the mistakes we made, the choices, that island, that cursed placed and all who died there, chasing something so pointless.”

[pyroline18]

The young woman smiled sadly at Shugen's words. She knew how much her childhood friend's past life tormented him almost every night. Regret and bad choices still seemed to weigh heavily on the dark-haired man, even though that life was no longer his. It was a distant past that seemed unwilling to heal.

She gently placed a hand on Shugen's shoulder, her brown eyes meeting his.

Sagiri: Shugen... I know you still have regrets about that past life, but... Why not focus on your current life? So you don't have regrets in it, but also to try to be happy. It would be like redeeming yourself for your past mistakes by becoming a better person.

She sighed, letting her hand fall back onto the sofa, her gaze lingering on the liquid in her hands. Her reflection in the tea showed a turmoil of emotions in her eyes.

Sagiri: I really wish I could stop seeing you suffer... You deserve better than this, Shugen. If you don't enjoy this life, you'll only have regrets, and it will be a never-ending cycle.

She placed the still slightly steaming cup on the fine wooden table.

Sagiri: I don't like seeing you hurt yourself by dwelling on the past... I wish you would think for once about yourself and the happiness you deserve. Please...

[fallesto]

The words settled into him like rain on dry soil, slow and intentional. He could sense Fuchi’s breath against his fur, warm and steady, the gentle rise and fall of his chest pressing lightly against his ribs. The fox’s tail flicked once, brushing against his foreleg, deliberate, grounding. He exhaled, long and slow, the tension in his claws easing even more.

"I promise." He whispered, his voice rough from lack of use, softer than he had meant it to be.

As he sighed slowly and nodded, the weight of his promise embedding itself in his bones like the final snow of winter, heavy, unavoidable, yet carrying the quiet assurance of a thaw. His claws fully retracted from the tatami, leaving behind small crescent impressions in the woven reeds. Fuchi’s ear twitched at the sound, but the fox remained close. The candlelight cast them both in hues of gold and shadow, their breaths harmonizing in the stillness.

“I will not throw my life away then.”

He did not want to cause him worry. The promise had been made, yet the wolf could already feel its edges beginning to fray, not from deceit, but from necessity. Fuchi’s warmth against his side was delicate, like sunlight on melting ice, and he understood better than anyone how swiftly such things could break. He allowed his eyelids to close, concealing the way his pupils widened with unspoken intentions. The fox’s breathing had deepened into slumber, his ribs rising and falling in a rhythm that matched.

“I swear it, I will not cause you to worry.”

[pyroline18]

Fuchi smiled gently and sat up to stretch, yawning softly, his sharp little fangs showing as he yawned. Fuchi's golden fur stood out even more in the light filtering through the windows. He seemed almost otherworldly with the golden sheen of his coat.

The little fox moved to lie down even closer to Shugen. His fur was soft, and his warm, small body nestled against Shugen's front paws. His little muzzle rested against Shugen's; they couldn't have been closer at that moment.

Fuchi: Very well, I trust you with that promise then. Now you should rest. You've had a long journey, and don't worry about the villagers. I'll tell them you're not a threat, but a protection. I won't let anyone mistreat you...

[fallesto]

He just lay there, exhaling slowly and deliberately, feeling the weight of Fuchi's head resting on his chest like an anchor, keeping him grounded in the moment. The warmth of the fox seeped through his fur, a sharp contrast to the cold isolation that had clung to him for ages. He could sense the steady rhythm of Fuchi's heartbeat, faint yet certain, a quiet counterpoint to his own. The silence of the temple enveloped them, thick with unspoken words and the lingering aroma of cedar and wild ginger.

“I do wish to stay with you, we are friends, we work better together.”

As he closed his eyes and let out a chuckle, a low, rasping sound that resonated through his chest, disturbing the dust motes dancing in the candlelight. It wasn't a laugh of amusement, nor the bitter bark of irony he had become accustomed to in his cursed existence. This was something gentler, something that felt foreign on his tongue. Fuchi's ear twitched against his ribs at the sound, yet the fox remained close.

“I can help you, you know it, and I can protect you.”

Slowly he smiled, it was all he had ever desired, to assist him and stay by his side. The thought settled into his bones like the warmth of a hearth after years spent wandering in the cold. Fuchi’s weight against him, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the scent of wild ginger blending with his own earthy musk and the smell of rain, it was sufficient. More than sufficient. His claws, still partially embedded in the tatami, relaxed, the reed fibers sighing as the tension dissipated.

“Any misfortune that has marked you, is mine as well to share, we can work through all of this together, you don’t have to do this alone, you know this.”

[pyroline18]

Fuchi: I know very well that you want to help me, Shugen, and that's really kind of you... Really... I know you well enough to say that you're the kind of person who's very loyal.

He remained pressed against Shugen's body, his dark eyes simply gazing at the light filtering through the windows, which danced in the temple.

Fuchi: However. If something were to happen to you because you protected me... I... I doubt I could get back up again. You're precious to me, Shugen, and I couldn't bear to see you hurt or suffer because of me.

He then turned his gaze to Shugen's dark eyes. Fuchi's expression was utterly serious.

Fuchi: So I'm willing to let you help and protect me. But you must promise me that you won't risk your life for mine. Promise me Shugen.

[fallesto]

He settled into the couch, exhaling deeply as the cushions seemed to sigh under his weight, sharing in his fatigue. The faint aroma of jasmine lingered in the air, Sagiri must have forgotten to close the tin on the counter, and the fragrance wrapped around him like an unearned apology. He pressed his hands firmly against his knees, concentrating on the feel of his slacks, noting how the fabric resisted his touch. Real. Tangible. Not the island. Not the blood.

Above him, the ceiling fan lazily rotated, casting shadows that danced across his face like restless spirits. As he counted each turn, eleven, twelve, until the numbers faded into a blur of static. Every muscle in his body felt tense, like a spring wound too tightly. He longed to escape his own skin, to shed this unsettled version of himself as if it were an ill-fitting uniform. Today had been a blunder. The auditorium, the café, the convenience store, each place had chipped away at his composure, leaving him exposed and unrecognizable. He dug his nails into the couch cushions.

Slowly he reclined and exhaled, allowing the couch cushions to envelop him completely. The ceiling fan continued its dull rotation, casting sharp shadows that flickered across his face like the fading light of a dying lantern. He shut his eyes, but the darkness behind his eyelids offered no refuge, merely another canvas for memories to etch themselves upon. The jasmine scent intensified as Sagiri busied herself in the kitchen, the sound of porcelain clinking against the countertop creating a familiar rhythm. He concentrated on that noise, grounding himself in it, hoping it would drown out the haunting echo of Fuchi’s violin.

“That would be nice, and something to eat, I am sorry about today, I have just not been myself.”

[pyroline18]

Sagiri smiled gently at her childhood friend's apology. She picked up the beautiful pot of pure jasmine tea she had bought; being a big tea fan, it was only natural for her to have quality tea.

It was a lovely ceramic pot with a hand-painted jasmine design, the work of local artisans, as she had bought both the pot and the tea from locals.

Sagiri: You don't have to apologize for that, Shugen. I'm not one to judge you, but rather to understand you, as you know.

She then left the tea to brew in the absolutely stunning teapot that Shugen had given her a few years ago when she moved into her apartment. It was a teapot of a magnificent blue.

She then prepared a tray of biscuits she had on hand. They would go down better with a good cup of tea. Once the tea had brewed completely, she poured it into two traditional cups that matched the teapot.

After a good five minutes, Sagiri returned with a tray containing the two cups and a plate of biscuits.

Sagiri: Here, Shugen, I think this will do you good. It's a new batch of jasmine tea. The aroma is much stronger than the last one I bought. And the taste is incredible.

[fallesto]

He kept his head lowered as he walked, his pace quickening as if the ground beneath him might give way if he paused. The intensity of Fuchi’s stare felt like a phantom blade lodged between his shoulder blades. He didn’t dare to look back. He couldn’t. The sun cast elongated shadows in front of him, reaching out like fingers attempting to drag him back into the past, back to the island, the blood, the moment his sword had sliced through flesh with a wet, final sound. Sagiri’s voice reached him, muffled as if he were submerged in water, but he couldn’t make out the words. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, a relentless drumbeat of guilt.

So he continued onward. The past was behind him. He didn’t want to dwell on it as he moved, each step a conscious cutting of the threads that sought to pull him back. The sidewalk lay ahead, ordinary and mundane, yet his vision narrowed until all he could see was the rhythmic flash of his shoes against the concrete. Left, right. Left, right. A mechanical rhythm to outrun the memories that lapped at his heels like ravenous tides. Sagiri's presence next to him was solid and silent; she understood better than to speak at this moment. The convenience store's fluorescent lights shone in the distance, a beacon of normalcy he clung to with desperate concentration.

“Hm ..”

As he approached, the automatic doors of the convenience store hissed open, enveloping him in the sterile glow of fluorescents and the artificial chill of the refrigerated air. He grabbed a basket almost instinctively, his fingers tightening around the plastic handle until it creaked under the pressure. The aisles unfolded before him, neat, predictable, lined with packaged normalcy, yet his pulse refused to calm. He concentrated on the rhythm of his footsteps against the linoleum, the sound of his sleeve brushing against a shelf of instant noodles. Left. Right. Left.

His basket clattered against the checkout counter, its contents meticulously arranged, reminiscent of the precision he once used to sharpen his blade. Two cans of black coffee, bitter, no sugar, because sweetness felt like a luxury he hadn’t earned. A packet of salted rice crackers, the type that crunched loudly enough to drown out unwanted thoughts. And a single, overpriced bento, its plastic wrap shining under the fluorescent lights like a mockery of a home-cooked meal. He stared at it, the heat lamps above casting a greasy sheen over the teriyaki chicken, and wondered absently if Fuchi had ever eaten something like this in his past life.

The apartment door clicked shut behind them, sealing out the city's hum and leaving only the whisper of Sagiri's socks against the hardwood. He stood frozen in the genkan, his shoes still on, fingers twitching at his sides as if expecting a sword hilt to appear. The scent of lemon cleaner and the faint musk of old books lingered in the air, ordinary, domestic smells that should have been comforting. Instead, they made his ribs ache with a mix of longing and revulsion.

“I am sorry, that I have not been myself today.”

[pyroline18]

Luckily, Gantetsusai was there. He quickly noticed that the younger man was having a panic attack.

And he quickly understood who was causing it. But he didn't take it personally. He gently helped Fuchi calm down.

The young woman mechanically followed Shugen, who was currently on autopilot. Of course, Sagiri wasn't at all angry with her childhood friend. She was empathetic enough to understand.

When they returned to her apartment, the young woman smiled tenderly at Shugen.

Sagiri: It's nothing, Shugen. I understand, you don't have to worry, okay?

She took their small groceries out of the bag with a slight smile.

Sagiri: I think a nice jasmine tea would calm you down. Is that alright with you? You can go sit in the living room now, I'll make the tea. Do you want to eat the instant ramen already?

[fallesto]

He squinted and watched the fox's tail twitching once, then twice, intentional movements, not the casual flicking of slumber. The realization hit him like a splash of cold water: Fuchi had been alert all along. Listening. Waiting. His claws dug into the tatami, splintering the woven reeds beneath him. The fox's ears turned toward the sound, yet he didn’t raise his head or show his teeth. Just that maddening stillness, as if his presence was merely a draft slipping through the temple doors.

The aroma of wild ginger suddenly intensified, sharp enough to prick his nostrils. Fuchi was holding back something, laughter? Anger? He felt his hackles rise. He had traversed rivers and damaged his claws following this scent, only to find himself relegated to a mere observer in Fuchi’s act. "You mock me .." He growled, his voice low enough that the candles barely flickered.

"Feigning sleep while I … " His words became tangled. Admit what? That he had loomed over Fuchi’s defenseless form and opted for stillness instead of violence? That the fox’s healing had unraveled something within him that no amount of vengeance could ever mend?

He exhaled sharply through his nose, the warm breath stirring the dust particles floating between them. His claws were still partially embedded in the tatami, the reed fibers creaking under the weight. "Mockery suits you." He said quietly, observing how Fuchi's ears flicked at the remark. The little fox didn’t take the bait, simply blinking those wise eyes, amber pools that caught the candlelight and something gentler that made his tail twitch again, despite his efforts to remain composed.

He settled down and shut his eyes. The tatami felt coarse against his fur, carrying the scent of dried reeds and aged incense, yet it was firm, tangible in a way that the past few months had not been. The temple’s tranquility enveloped him like a blanket of snow, dampening the restless energy that had propelled him through woods and streams. He could hear Fuchi’s steady breathing, the occasional rustle of fur as the fox moved, but neither of them spoke. The silence lingered, heavy with unvoiced inquiries.

“I will leave in the morning.” He said softly. “If you don’t want me here.” He said.

“Then I will not stay.”

[pyroline18]

Fuchi sighed softly upon hearing Shugen's words. He didn't want Shugen to take it the wrong way...

That wasn't his intention. Shugen was important to him, but he didn't want to drag him into his troubles. But it seemed the wolf truly wanted to stay by his side, no matter how many times he'd rejected him.

Fuchi: It wasn't my intention to hurt you.

He moved closer to settle against the black wolf's fur, resting his head against its chest.

Fuchi: If you truly wish, then I won't reject you. You can stay if you want; I won't try to stop you anymore. And know that you don't bother me. I enjoy your company, but I simply wanted to protect you from any misfortune that might have befallen me.

[fallesto]

He squinted, surprised by the unexpected reaction. Fuchi's words lingered in the space between them, delicate like temple incense yet weighty like river stones. The fox spirit was neither sneering nor fleeing, merely sitting there with that maddening calm, his tail flicking once before settling, as if even his body was torn between reprimanding and soothing. Shugen's claws pressed into the tatami. After months of trudging through rain and across battlefields, after swallowing his pride to sneak into this temple like a mere stray, was this all he received? A sermon on happiness?

“You as well then?”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, but it was devoid of its usual sharpness. Fuchi's healing had left him too warm, too relaxed for genuine anger. His own treacherous tail thumped against the floorboards again, and he turned his head sharply to glare at it, as if the appendage had betrayed him personally.

“You turn your back on me as well?”

Then he exhaled sharply, his breath stirring the thin tendrils of incense smoke still lingering on the tatami. What sort of life was he destined to lead? Humans despised him, feared him. He had witnessed it in their widening eyes, the way their hands shook when he came too close. Villagers locked their doors at the mere whisper of a black wolf near their fields. Children were hushed with warnings of the cursed creature that haunted the riverbanks. Even now, in this temple, the residual scent of fear clung to the wooden beams where worshippers had fled upon sensing his presence.

“I thought you my friend.”

His claws flexed against the floorboards. Fuchi spoke of happiness as if it were a simple choice, as if he could just shed his fur like a cloak and walk back into the realm of men. The fox spirit didn’t comprehend. How could he? Fuchi’s scars were badges of honor, his wanderlust a narrative woven into his legend. But his curse was something else entirely. It wasn’t a tale to be shared around a fire; it was a mark, a sentence. The villagers didn’t whisper his name with respect, they spat it.

“I thought you better than this, but I was mistaken.”

[pyroline18]

A sigh escaped the fox spirit's lips upon hearing and seeing the sharp reaction his words had provoked in Shugen. Could they never understand each other? Were they always destined to argue like this? The thought exhausted the spirit.

Fuchi: Shugen. My words aren't meant to hurt you; quite the opposite. I simply wish you happiness.

The fox spirit silently watched Shugen's claws dig into the tatami mat. Understanding others' feelings had always been a challenge for him.

However, he was genuinely trying his best to understand the black wolf before him.

He shifted to his smallest form, level with Shugen so he wouldn't think he was looking down on him. His form was that of a small, blond fox, a completely harmless fox, smaller than Shugen himself.

Fuchi: What were you thinking, following me, Shugen? Please don't take my words the wrong way... I'm just trying to understand.

He simply lay down, resting his head on his paws and looking at Shugen.

Fuchi: Being with me won't do you any good, you know...

[fallesto]

He took a sip of his drink and gazed outside, his fingers tightening around the cup as he watched the scene unfold beyond the café window. The tall man, Gantetsusai, had a stance that appeared both relaxed and protective, his broad shoulders casting a shadow that enveloped Fuchi like a shield. The way Fuchi leaned into him, the way his fingers curled around the sunflower stems with an unconscious tenderness, it felt all too familiar. His breath caught in his throat. He recognized that posture, that unspoken language of trust. It reflected something he had lost long ago.

“Hm ..”

The coffee now tasted like ash. He compelled himself to swallow, to concentrate on the bitterness rather than the hollow ache spreading through his chest. His gaze locked on the way Fuchi laughed, bright and unguarded, as Gantetsusai tousled his hair. The bouquet wobbled in his grip, petals scattering onto the table like golden confetti.

“This is getting to be, annoying for me.”

As he averted his gaze, but not before noticing how Fuchi's fingers delicately brushed a stray petal from Gantetsusai's sleeve, small, effortless actions that hinted at a closeness developed over time. The gesture was too intentional, too rehearsed. In contrast, his own hands felt awkward, still clutching the cup as if it could ground him against the surge of memories threatening to choke him. The café’s background noise, the clinking of spoons, the soft chatter of strangers, blurred into a monotonous hum, as distant as the reverberations of his past. He pondered, somewhat absently, if this was the sensation of ghosts: present yet unanchored, observing lives unfold without the burden of involvement.

“Come.”

He rose suddenly, the chair scraping against the café floor with a sound that felt too loud for the serene atmosphere. His cup was empty, the remnants of coffee staining the porcelain like dried blood. The tension in his shoulders conveyed enough, he couldn’t remain here, not with Fuchi’s laughter still echoing through the glass, not with Gantetsusai’s shadow hovering over the table like a phantom from a life he had vowed was merely a dream.

“Let’s go, we have spent enough time here.”

[pyroline18]

The young woman smiled gently as she watched the newcomer interact with Fuchi, who seemed delighted. There was something special about them.

Usually, people like Gantetsusai made Sagiri a little afraid because they were intimidating, but there was something about this man that didn't frighten her.

Sagiri was thinking, unable to put her finger on it. Then it dawned on her when the man's large hand ruffled Fuchi's wheat-colored hair. This man exuded a strong sense of protection towards the violinist.

Something very touching, as if the man simply wanted to see even the smallest smile again and again. As if Gantetsusai wanted to protect him and see him happy.

Then Sagiri regained her composure and turned her attention to Shugen. Shugen seemed extremely tense and on the verge of breaking down. She could easily tell by seeing her childhood friend's slender fingers tightly gripping the now-empty cup. The urgency to leave was clear, and the chair scraping against the floor was proof enough.

Sagiri: Fine, whatever you want. We'll just go back to my place; your futon is already made up. We'll just stop by the convenience store to get something to eat tonight.

The young woman also stood up, but her gaze caught Fuchi's, who had turned toward them when he heard the chair scrape. But Fuchi's gaze remained completely fixed on Shugen.

Fuchi's deep black eyes were wide open in surprise. His body began to tremble slightly as memories of his former life came flooding back. Every memory containing Shugen flooded back to him, especially the most painful ones... That reproachful look he'd given him, that refusal to listen, and then... When Shugen's blade sliced through his body... The blood, the physical pain, but also the emotional pain behind that act...

That act that had ultimately ended his life, leaving him with almost no chance of survival...

Unconsciously, one of his hands clutched his shirt where Shugen had struck him, sealing his fate... The boy felt himself struggling to breathe. A panic attack was clearly gripping his throat. But his mind wouldn't react.

When he and Gantetsusai first saw each other in this life, it had been an explosion of joy accompanied by a few tears. Both men, having retained their memories from their past lives, were deeply moved to see each other again. But Fuchi never would have believed he would see Shugen in this life... He hadn't been prepared for it...

[fallesto]

He exhaled gently as he experienced the healing process, feeling Fuchi's energy enveloping his weary body like sunlight filtering through fractured ice. His muscles, which had been tightly wound with fatigue for months, relaxed under the fox spirit's gentle touch. The feeling was so foreign, so achingly tender, that for a brief moment, he lost the ability to move, to speak, to be anything other than this: a being being restored by hands he had pursued for seasons with bared teeth.

His gazed at his own forepaws, the obsidian fur now smooth and pristine, no longer tangled with dirt or dried blood. The sensation was strange, like awakening in a different person's skin. He flexed his claws, observing the moonlight reflecting off them, sharp and immaculate. The pain in his ribs had vanished. The hunger, too, although its specter remained in the emptiness behind his sternum. He took a slow breath, anticipating the usual sting of torn flesh, but instead encountered only the fresh aroma of cedar and the subtle metallic hint of Fuchi’s residual energy.

“I had to find you.”

Now he already felt an improvement, better than he had in months, perhaps even years. The stiffness in his joints had dissipated under Fuchi’s touch, and the persistent hunger in his stomach was replaced by a warmth that radiated outward from his core like liquid sunlight. He flexed his paws once more, astonished by the ease of movement and the absence of pain. For the first time since the curse had contorted his body into this form, he no longer felt like a creature merely surviving. He felt... complete. Or at least, something akin to it.

“I had to make sure you were okay.”

Even now, he even sensed his tail wagging, an involuntary flick at first, followed by a slow, tentative arc through the air. The motion was ridiculous, unfamiliar. He hadn’t wagged his tail since before the curse, back when he had still been human enough to laugh. The realization caused him to freeze mid-motion, his ears flattening. This body wasn’t his, it shouldn’t move in this manner, and it shouldn’t betray him with canine instincts he had spent months suppressing. Yet the warmth accumulating in his chest could not be overlooked. It trickled down his spine, loosening something tight and knotted within him, until his tail gave another treacherous twitch.

“I had to find you.”

[pyroline18]

A sigh escaped the young fox spirit's lips as his gaze lingered on Shugen.

Of course, Fuchi was happy the wolf was still alive. When he had left, he had worried a little about Shugen's reaction, since Fuchi had left without warning.

Fuchi: Shugen. It was stupid of you to follow me all the way here. I don't know what you're looking for by following me...

He turned his gaze toward the incense, which had died down, leaving faint trails of smoke in the air.

Fuchi: You should live your life, Shugen. Stop chasing the past. Just enjoy what you can still do.

He turned his gaze back to himself and his tail, which had started to wag, then suddenly stopped as if it weren't allowed to.

Fuchi: Shugen, I would really like to see you happy, but you're creating obstacles for yourself...

[fallesto]

He glanced down and took a sip, the lukewarm coffee tasting bitter on his tongue, yet he embraced the discomfort, anything to ground him in the moment. The porcelain made a soft clink as he placed it on the saucer, his fingers lingering just a fraction too long, as if fearing the cup might disappear if he released it completely. Across the table, Sagiri’s gaze was unwavering, patient. She had always shown him patience, even when he struggled to explain why the sight of that boy, Fuchi, had made his heart race like a frightened creature.

The terrace outside the café window was illuminated by afternoon light, and there he was again, the violinist, his stance relaxed yet his hands fidgeting, tapping an absent rhythm on the tablecloth. He felt a tightening in his throat. It wasn’t merely the music. It was the angle of his shoulders, the way his hair glimmered in the sunlight, details that seemed insignificant but mattered deeply, weaving together a specter from a past that wasn’t meant to haunt him here.

“You’re not mistaken …” He finally conceded, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’s… recognizable. In a way that defies logic.” He flexed his fingers, half-hoping to feel the familiar calluses of a sword grip, but instead, he found only the smoother contours of violin strings imprinted on his skin. This body, this reality, they were distinct. And yet …

“I don’t like talking about what happened before, it is more like a nightmare, than anything else.”

[pyroline18]

The young woman observed her childhood friend, then her gaze returned to the blond-haired boy who seemed to have an effect on Shugen, whether good or bad.

Sagiri: I'm sorry. Let's not talk about it anymore. I don't want to hurt you or make you feel any more uncomfortable than you already do.

She offered him a gentle smile, clearly understanding the limitations and pain that remembering his past could cause Shugen. She had a strong sense of empathy, so it was easy for her to understand her friend.

Then the young woman's gaze fell on a movement outside, or rather, on a large figure that had appeared beside the blond boy.

There was a man, a very tall man with long brown hair tied back, a mustache, and a beard. A gentle smile played on his face as he looked at the blond boy, a bouquet of sunflowers in his large hands.

Their difference in height was rather endearing, even when Fuchi stood up to embrace the tall man. This brought a gentle smile to the young woman's face.

Even through the glass, Fuchi's voice could be heard, though somewhat muffled.

Fuchi: Gantetsusai! You shouldn't have, you know... Thank you... The flowers are beautiful...

Quickly, the blond moved his violin so the man could sit down beside him. The boy seemed radiant in his presence.

[pyroline18]

THE DUO

THE TRIO

[pyroline18]

Two idiots but I love them so much 😍

Please go to watch peacemaker kurogane !